Shame
by CiderDrinker
Summary: Formerly known as "Angry Cheddar", for those who remember it. Merlin angsts over events gone past, and Mab pays him a visit. Mab/Merlin pairing. Thanks to Mab Rox for letting me write a sequel to her fic, "Wrath". Rated M to be safe


_OK, this is a truly ancient one... some of you have probably already seen it over at MRAP (Miranda Richardson Appreciation Page forum) already, its been up there for many years now, but, in an attempt to sort out my fanfic and collect my stuff on here, this one's going up. Sorry!_

_For those of you who haven't read it already: This is Part II of a Mab/Merlin trilogy- the first part, "Wrath", was written by the wonderful Mab Rox, over at MRAP, who kindly let me write a sequel. The last part, "Three", is also over at MRAP, and was written by Incapability. Last I heard, typing links out in these things didn't work, so if you want to read them (And I heartily recommend you do), type "Miranda Richardson Appreciation Page" into google, go on the forums, and look through the "Fan Work" subforum- both have their own threads, so you should be able to find them._

_In case you don't read them, the backstory for this particular fic is, in brief, during the latter part of Merlin's stay in the Land of Magic, he ends up sleeping with Mab. He is somewhat spooked by this, and leaves the Land of Magic, the same way as in the film, and events from there unfold as they do in the film- this takes place a few years after Ambrosia's death, but before Merlin is taken to Vortigern._

_And yes, this is/was "Angry Cheddar" on MRAP- title has been changed to make it fit in slightly better with the rest of the trilogy- that, and I forget the reason behind the title XD Enjoy!_

He sat watching the ground. It was a daily ritual of his, a habit he had never grown out of. Every day, he would sit here, in front of the two graves. Every day, he would sweep the leaves from the bare earth, straighten the stones around Ambrosia's grave, and the cross atop his mother's. At first, he had tried to say prayers for his mother- he knew she had been a follower of the New Religion- but though he had renounced the Old Ways, he was reluctant to follow that path all the way to the New Religion, and the words felt hollow and meaningless. So now, every day, he would sit there quietly, mourning the woman who had raised him, and thinking of the woman who had given birth to him only to die, concentrating on these thoughts alone.

Of course, Frik had always despaired of his limited concentration when he was studying in the Land of Magic, and even now, almost five years later, it had seen precious little improvement. His mind was apt to drift, and thoughts of Ambrosia drifted to the picture of the dying woman lying in her devastated home that day, and the cold, calculating gaze of the Fairy Queen that stood and watched the whole sorry scene, and thoughts of his mother inevitably returned to the Lady of the Lake's admission of Mab's part in her death, which led to the Land of Magic, and the world he had left behind, and it's Queen.

Thoughts of Mab made for uncomfortable companions, it couldn't be denied, but living alone as he did, there was very little else to occupy his mind. He wasn't sure which memories disturbed him the most. Memories of her as he had seen her stand over Ambrosia's body still sent a cold chill down his spine. He had never seen her transform into a wolf or raven, though he knew it was one of her powers, but he had seen both creatures in her face at that moment- shining, calculating gaze, head tilted to one side, as though considering his worth- and frighteningly little of anything human. Guilt and compassion had no place in that expression. And then Merlin had gone to hit her- for the first time in his life, he had wanted to strike someone, to hurt them. Surely the guilt for what she had done must have been inside her somewhere, and he had been determined to find it, even if he had had to beat it out of her, to kill her to find it. He had been told of his destiny, countless times, to become a powerful wizard, and part of him had assumed that after his months of training, he would have had at least some chance against the Queen of Air and Darkness, but she had thrown him aside with a thought, as though he were nothing but an untrained child. And though he hated to admit it, part of him had feared her in that moment.

Memories of the night before, on the other hand, sent a decidedly different sort of shiver up his spine. She hadn't looked human that night either. She had looked every inch the goddess she was. And he did mean every inch... Nor had she felt human. He shivered slightly, as he remembered the how she had felt- cool, smooth skin running over his body, hair flowing down around them both, feeling so light as to almost be unreal, the dark, bitter taste of magic on her lips and in her mouth, not entirely unpleasant. Merlin didn't know what he had expected- not that he had had much time to consider the matter, between walking into Mab's room and being pulled into her bed, nor had his brain really been in much of a fit state to consider anything after his eyes had fallen on the Queen of the Old Ways and her rather more revealing than usual outfit- but he could never, not in his wildest dreams, imagined anything similar. There were no tender caresses and shy kisses, no hesitant touches, just hands tearing his clothes from, clutching him, claiming him, his own body responding willingly, with equal determination, and then the heat of another body pressed against his own. His mind had been a blur, he couldn't remember the rest in perfect detail, but he did remember one moment where his every sense seemed to have been set alight, and she had been his whole world, nothing had existed but her touch, her skin, her voice. He knew then, that in that moment, he would have sworn his life to her, would have cast aside all his doubts about what he had seen in the Forest of the Night, would have forsaken Ambrosia, and Nimue, and all those he had left behind in the mortal world, as long as she didn't stop. And when he had recalled the intensity of it afterwards, it had frightened him, even more than he had feared a wrath a mere day later.

Of course, none of that should matter. Mab was evil, he knew that now. She had left his mother to die, and Ambrosia, destroyed everything that had he had loved. What had happened between him and Mab the night before should cause him nothing but shame and loathing, for did it not show how little she had valued him that she had hurt him so easily and without remorse? And yet, as he sat here, he couldn't help but think about it with a kind of longing. Denying it was futile, and part of Merlin admitted that he wanted the Queen of the Old Ways, wanted to feel her moving against him again, wanted to feel her hair brushing across his skin, and regretted that it had only happened once.

He clenched his fist. She shouldn't be able to do this. He had renounced her, the mere memory of her should not reduce him to longing and weakness. Had she put an enchantment upon him that night, binding him to her in some way, however unwillingly? Was it perhaps because she had created him, was linked to him in that way, that made her memory course through his body with her blood, her magic? Was that the reason he hadn't been able to follow the way of his mother's religion, why the words of the prayers had seemed empty? He closed his eyes, and tried to shut away the memories of Mab, to concentrate only on those who's graves he now knelt before. But the thoughts nagged at him continuously, tried to tempt his mind back to them, and he tried to think of something else, but it was so hard.

"Stop it," he thought piteously to himself, "Make them go away..."

There was a sudden flash of light behind him. His flesh tingled with the nearness of magic, and his mind froze as he realised why.

"You called me." Her voice was laced with a kind of smug satisfaction, as though she had been expecting this, and he loathed himself for not having the strength to tell her to leave him, that it had been a mistake. He stared ahead, didn't look at her, hoping that if he pretended that she wasn't there, she would go away, in the end. He heard her give a soft, almost mocking laugh, and he shuddered slightly as he felt, rather than heard her approach.

"What's wrong, Merlin?" she murmured from close behind him, "Is there something... on your mind, perhaps?" The mocking tone was still there, but it wasn't the cold mockery that he remembered from the day of Ambrosia's death. It was knowing, teasing, it was plainly obvious that she knew, or at least suspected, precisely what was wrong. Merlin continued to stare ahead of himself, but he couldn't help but wonder whether if he turned to face her, her eyes would hold promises, or scorn, "What must you have been thinking to summon me here...?"

"You shouldn't have come here," Merlin replied coldly. He was rewarded with another laugh.

"Oh, but Merlin, I always come to those who call on me. And it's been so long since I saw you. I knew you would summon me eventually..." She was standing directly behind him now, leaning close to whisper to him. Her hair brushed against his shoulder, and he felt his body stiffen, felt his breaths shorten at her proximity.

"Leave me in peace," Merlin muttered, "I want nothing more to do with you."

"Are you sure?" Mab replied, her tone more of smug triumph than either disgust or lust, which was what Merlin would have expected. But then, he reminded himself, nothing about this woman was human, "If you want me to go, why summon me?" A hand reached out, and Merlin felt it rest lightly on his shoulder, and his breath quickened again, and suddenly he was angry. How dare she come here, to the graves of the women she had left for dead? How dare she occupy his thoughts? How dare she bewitch him, then mock him like this? Grasping out in rage, he caught her wrist, and pulled her sharply, so that she ended up lying sprawled on the ground in front of him, and he grabbed her arms, pinning her down, heedless of the consequences. Half of him was tempted to strangle her, to wrap his hands around her throat, and indeed, one of his hands strayed towards her neck. Mab merely laughed.

"Poor Merlin," she cooed, "Do you really think I couldn't leave, or fling you away if I wanted to?" Merlin gritted his teeth and pulled away from her.

"Then why don't you?" he snarled, staring down at her. She hadn't moved, merely watched him with a look situated somewhere between genuine amusement, and a cold, detached interest.

"I'm curious," she replied, "Could your precious morals really allow you to try to kill someone, however unsuccessful such an attempt might be? Which part of your mind will win, I wonder?" Her voice was still faintly mocking, still had that knowing tone to it. Merlin's eyes couldn't help but run over her as she lay sprawled in front of him, her hair splayed out, tangled in the flowers that had grown across Ambrosia's grave, her dress slightly dishevelled, lying before him in a perfect parody of submission. Even though he knew that she was taunting him, manipulating him, and that if she chose, she could be standing before him once again, the perfect image of the icy ruler of the Old Ways, and throw him aside once more, part of him didn't care.

"I hate you," he snapped, moving back from her slightly, a pleading note entering his voice on the next sentence, "Why can't you just leave me in peace? Why do you have to ruin everything you touch?" Mab raised her eyebrow.

"You summoned me," she reminded him yet again, "I merely answered. But if you wish me to leave," her voice lowered slightly, her smile grew more teasing, "Then tell me to go. Tell me you truly don't want me here, and I shall leave you here." Merlin's mouth opened, tried to form the words to make her leave, but somehow, he couldn't. He could lie, but everything from his blood to his upbringing to his lust screamed against it. Yes, he hated her for what she'd done to him, but that didn't stop part of him from wanting her, hadn't stopped it for years, and now she was lying here, and the hand that had remained reached out from his earlier almost-attempt to strangle her now reached for her throat again, but not to wrap itself around it, but to trail across it, running his hand over her jaw, trailing a finger over her lips, which twisted slightly, almost imperceptibly, into a triumphant smirk.

"Why don't you leave?" he muttered hopelessly, defeated, ashamed of himself, for knowing that he was too weak to make her go. She didn't reply this time, just stared at him, and his words simply trailed off. What was the point? She knew, now. She knew he wanted her, knew he was weak. Why stop now? Desperately, he leaned towards her, pressed his mouth against hers, brought his hands up to run over her arms, shoulders, chest, refamiliarising himself with her, and for a moment, his mind went blank as the sensation of her lips, her form pressed against his, drove all conscious thought from him, except for the need to possess her, to feel her again. His hands tore at her clothes in a frenzy, until he forced himself under control, determined that if this was to happen, then he would take his time, take all that he wanted from her, because then, surely, he would not need this to happen again, would be able to resist the next time. And with this clarity of thought, others began to edge their way into his mind, such as the sudden awareness that as he lay here, with Mab, splayed out in the flowers, somewhere below them lay the body of the woman who had raised him, whom Mab had killed, or left to die, and he felt tears running down his face.

"Forgive me," he murmured inwardly to Ambrosia, to his mother, "Please, forgive me". Turning back to Mab, he saw her peer up at his tears, sneering slightly at the sight, and angrily, he gripped the back of her head, pulling her mouth roughly against his, hiding her gaze from his sight. His hands moved downwards, removed the last of her clothes. He traced his fingers back over her body, forcing the sensation to ingrain itself firmly into his memory. She truly was flawless, her skin smooth and firm and unmarked, cool to the touch, and the essence of magic that hung around her like perfume sent tingling tremors through the wizards hands. He moved his mouth away from hers, to her neck, forced himself under control, though her wanted to devour her, every part, wanted to wipe the ever present smirk from her face, wanted to feel himself inside her. His hand brushed over her breast, and he felt his breath catch, felt her inhale deeply under his touch, and his eyes flickered back towards her face. Her eyes were closed, slightly, and her breaths had deepened, but that bloody smirk was still in place, and that cool calmness as she watched him, and he couldn't hold back any longer. Pulling back from her unwillingly, he tore at his own clothes now, fumbling at buttons and laces, and ripping material in his attempt to break free of them. It seemed to take an age, and he was almost screaming with frustration by the time they were cast aside.

Finally, he threw off the last of them, reached down with desperation to clutch at her, his earlier attempts at control gone completely. He pressed himself down, into her, grasped out and gripped her shoulders, twisted his hand into her hair, and clung to her, pressing his face into her shoulder, gasping as his body moved against hers. The sensation was even more intense than he remembered, and as he watched Mab, he found himself thinking, "Yes, she is perfect, she is a Queen, she should be worshipped..." only to come to his senses, to force himself to remember that she was a cruel, heartless murderess, that he hated her, that she had destroyed everything that was precious to him, that he just wanted to feel those lips on his again...

"Ah, Gods..." he groaned slightly, against her shoulder. This was too much, too perfect, too intense. He had hoped that this would end his thoughts of Mab, that by allowing his lusts to be quenched, he could forget about her, but he saw now how wrong he had been. His need for her was consuming him, burning away at his memories, at his anger, at all his righteous oaths, and the tears were still coursing down his face, but now he no longer remembered why.

Her lips were pressed against his now, and her nails dug into his back, left marks, reminders. Just as roughly as she had clawed at him, she pulled her mouth from his, stopped moving completely, and leaned forward and whispered fiercely in his ear.

"You're mine..."

"Yes..." Merlin agreed, he was hers, he would agree to anything if she would just continue, and gods, it seemed to feel so perfect once he had said that. His whole world collapsed around him, was rebuilt, and then she moved away slightly, to the side, and he was left lying in the flowers, his mind clearing as he realised what he had said. He cursed in horror, and turned, to find Mab towering over him, fully clothed in all the gems and silks of the Queen of the Old Ways, the only sign that remained of the past few minutes the smirk that still teased at her features.

"Even you cannot deny it," Mab murmured, her whispering voice carrying across the area, seeming to echo from the trees that surrounded them, "You belong to me. You will accept it soon enough..." And then she was gone, and were it not for the pile of clothes that lay next to Merlin, and the torn petals and leaves of the flowers below him, she might never have been there at all.

He waited a few moments, to be sure she wasn't coming back, before he let himself cry again.


End file.
